Madame M.

Mother may I?

If I may, can I?

If I can, should I?

They shed blood for you,

their own and others’ will do.
Filling up your chalice with tears,
release from them their ravenous fears.

What else will you ask of them?

What else is there Madame M.?

Did you not dare surmise

of how your own name should rise?
A bouquet of incense set on high
for you, your hope and twisted lie.

What other tale shall I hymn

for your own ears, Madame M.?

Angelic wings took flight

to spread your mangled plight.
While wood was stained with red
were schemes storming in your head?

Here’s your crown of gold and gem.

Would there be anything else, Madame M.?

Any other day as meek you be?

Of your initial state, please remind me.
Your garden has grown to the contrary.
Mountain majesty replaced low prairie.

Higher in the tree the weaker the limb.

Oh do be careful up there Madame M.